Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and read the first chapter. It is you readers who inspire me to add more chapters. Also, I will be adding several Character Bios for future characters, similar to the Squad 7 bios. Check my profile for details.

Linksroyal: It was actually Darkwarrior's story that inspired my own, and I appreciate your help.

Other than that, I hope you enjoy the new chapter and promise to post the next as soon as possible.
- BlindFury the Ultimate

Embers of Life: Survivors

A sullen orange and crimson sky, highlighted by the cobalt flames that spread out in every direction with supernatural speed, consuming the citadel in its wake. The wind howled loudly past his ears, carrying with it the cries of death. As the effects of the blast finally cleared, he saw only a graveyard where Ghirlandaio once stood…

His heart hammered deeply in his throat as they moved ever closer to the remnants of the fortress. They knew what the odds were that the General had somehow survived the blast, knew what the odds were of finding anyone alive, but they at least had to try…

He found her, much to his disbelief, emerging from the rubble somewhere near the centre of the debris. She held her head high, with a queen's demeanor, her Valkyrian flame burning brightly around her. Chills shot through his spine as her ruby-red eyes met his hazel ones…

Running forward, he barely managed to catch her unconscious form before it struck the ground. It was as if the Valkyrur Goddesses of Old had come down from the heavens and saved one of their own from death. Exhaustion radiated from her body, just like how relief began to surge through him at the now confirmed fact she was alive.…

That was, until he felt something warm and sticky running down his arms. It was blood... Selvaria's blood. Relief changed to horror as he pulled back, seeing the wounds that were forming all over her paling skin. Panic once again settled in as he started shouting for the others. She needed medical attention now! The bleeding… Oh, Mother of Valkyrur, the horrible bleeding…

Johann blinked, disoriented as the memories retreated from him. Cursing under his breath, he ran his tongue several times over his teeth, trying in vain to eradicate the taste of bile and blood that filled his mouth. Failing, he simply gave up, drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly through his nose. He needed to keep his mind focused on the present.

In front of him, the low mounds of coals throbbed like the heart of some giant beast. Occasionally, a patch of gold sparks flared into existence and raced across the surface of the wood before vanishing into a white-hot crevice. The dying remnants of the fire he and Otto had built cast an eery red light over the surrounding area, revealing a patch of rocky soil, a travel-worn tent off to his left, a few pewter-gray stone pieces of Ghirlandaio's outer wall and skeletal remains of some tanks farther off, then nothing. Nothing but the darkness of the night. It was the third nightfall since the blast, yet even without the sun's light he knew the thick black smoke was still rising into the air and blocking out the stars above.

Johann sat close to the embers - grateful for the warmth - with his back propped up against his duffel bag. His helmet and upper body pieces of armour lay in a neat pile at his side. Opposite him, Otto sat down upon an iron-hard, sun-bleached, win-worn shell of an ancient tree trunk that had somehow escaped the chaos of the earlier events unscathed. Every time he moved, the trunk would produce a bitter shriek that made Johann want to claw at his ears.

Of the entire Imperial battalion that were stationed at Ghirlandaio, only five of its soldiers remained. The rest were either prisoners being escorted to Randgriz by the Gallian militia… or dead. Turned to ash in the explosion that had destroyed Ghirlandaio. Johann was quite frankly amazed that he wasn't one of them.

For the moment, quiet reigned within the small camp. Even the coals smoldered in silence. Otto could only find small branches, few as there were, that were already devoid of moisture. Though the hour was late and both were tired from the days events, neither man making a move to retire. Johann suspected it had more to do with Selvaria than it did anything else. He tried, but just couldn't stop worrying about her.

He still remembered vividly how he had found her in the command center the day before Gallia attacked Ghirlandaio, on her knees and crying softly by herself after giving her report to His Grace, Maximilian. He had waited just outside while she selflessly put the blame on herself for the Empire's defeat at Naggiar, begging Maximilian for another chance to prove her worth and be redeemed in his eyes. It pained him to listen to Selvaria as she berated herself for her failure. A failure that none under her command saw as her fault. There was no way they could have predicted Gallia had a Valkyria of their own, much less expect her to emerge and suddenly reverse the flow of battle when victory seemed so close at hand. Though Johann did not hear the prince's reply, Selvaria quickly agreed to it. "More than anything!" she had said, sounding almost desperate before her voice too became too soft for him to overhear.

Though he never heard what was said, Johann knew it had not been the forgiveness Selvaria had hoped for. A sudden thud, perhaps Selvaria falling to her knees, followed by an argument between the prince and General Jaeger, who was also present to deliver a message of his own. The apathy in His Grace's voice as he justified whatever response he had given to Selvaria horrified Johann.

His Grace left not too long after that, emotionless mask in place, ignoring the foot soldier as he passed. Jaeger left a moment later, a mix of shame and anger on the face of a man who was normally so calm, sometimes outright jovial in the face of danger. That, more than his silence when asked what had happened, told Johann just how serious the whole situation was. He entered the command centre then, and it was fear more than anything that pushed him forward.

Ever since they had first met, Johann had been constantly amazed by her strength, her courage and her determination as she pushed forward to defeat her enemies time and time again. She was the woman who had helped transform him from the meek engineer he had been to the brave scout known to Gallia as Ozwald the Iron. As one of the Triumviri, she was seemingly without equal, besting the forces of both the Federation and Gallia with only the smallest of losses on her part. She always led at the front of the charge, not cowering in the back while sending countless men to their deaths. She was a commander worth fighting for.

...To see her broken and teary-eyed like that, begging him not to let anyone know the state she was in broke his heart. A simple "please", before breaking down and crying into his shoulder, with no attempt whatsoever to preserve her dignity. Reluctantly he had agreed, silently holding her as she cried, unsure what to do.

A fountain of amber motes billowed and swirled as Otto tossed another branch onto the disintegrating coals. He caught his best friend's look and shrugged. "Cold," he said. He had hardened over the last few months, Johann observed. He had also hardened a lot thanks to the war, but with Otto, something special had been lost. There was no longer any spark of joy in his eyes, nor was there the witty banter he used to express at almost every opportunity. The war had damaged him mentally, more so than it had physically.

Before Johann could respond, both men heard the sound of leather sliding over metal. Turning towards it, he saw Ghirlandaio's fourth survivor exiting the tent. His massive frame, well over seven feet tall even without the armour, barely fit inside the tent.

Eloc Oxford, 'the Beast of Theoks' from Fhirald was the largest lancer serving in the Empire. His arms and legs were as thick around as tree trunks, his large broad shoulders twice as wide as any normal man. The man was almost literally a walking tank, as silent as he was deadly in combat. Unless it was to say something urgent, the man almost never spoke a word. With three long strides, the lancer reached the minuscule campfire and took his own seat beside Otto. Removing his helmet, revealing chiseled features and a thick moustache and beard that normally hid behind the facemask, he turned to face Johann. Any other person would have seen the man grunt once and motion behind him with his head, nothing else. Johann, knowing better, saw the message hidden beneath it: the Lieutenant wanted to see him. Now. Quickly, he got to his feet and headed for the tent. After only the slightest hesitation, he entered.

Ghirlandaio's fifth and last survivor had his back was turned to him when the flap opened. Not out of disrespect, but because he was tending to a more demanding matter. It didn't really matter to Johann: the man was a father figure to many of the squad, and he had seen more than his fair share of combat.

First Lieutenant Carn Nitsew was a man who had celebrated his sixty-second birthday just over a month ago, yet he was anything but a crippled old man. He was second-in-command under Selvaria, and in combat alone he could move and fight like a man forty years younger, always leaving people wondering what he was like back in his prime. His short, jet-black hair had faded as the years passed by, yet not a single gray hair could be found. The same went for the for the closely trimmed mustache and beard that covered his chin and upper lip. A long, jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, a mark left by the first Europan War.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Johann asked, the tent flap settling behind him. The Lieutenant nodded calmly, not deviating from his current task. He spoke to Johann without looking over.

"Yes, I did. Have a seat, lad. I'll be with you in a moment."

Beside the Lieutenant lay their only field medical kit. It was scuffed up and missing a couple of key utensils, but it was the best they had to work with. Pulling out a canister of ragnite from the kit, the Lieutenant twisted it open and applied it to the wound on his Selvaria's left shoulder. The skin reacted to the glowing material and knitted itself back together is seconds. However, just as the ragnite was used up and put away, the fresh skin opened up again. It did not bleed this time, like it had before, but it still turned an unnatural black afterward, forming odd markings that smelt of burnt flesh. Surprising, considering the black skin was as cold as ice.

Even without the wounds that refused to heal, her body still looked like a mad artist, in a flood of inspiration, had marred it with lines that couldn't be erased. At least she had not stirred for a while, like when they had first found her. Then, she had woken often, her moods random and unpredictable - sometimes bewildered, sometimes violently angry, sometimes crying uncontrollably. Sometimes, she would simply stare at the ceiling, her face pensive and unreadable, until they were unsure if she was thinking or simply lost in her own mind, before falling into unconsciousness again. The silence in between such bouts was the worst, Johann though, for it was in that time he was struck by how fragile she was now.

Thankfully, the Lieutenant did not give him time to dwell on it this time. With another sigh, he cleaned up the medical supplies before turning his attention to him.

"I have a theory about what is happening to the lass, but I need you to be completely honest with me, lad," he stated, "Tell me everything you remembered after you found her. Don't leave out any details. Even if you think they're unnecessary, they might help uncover the problem."

Johann swallowed nervously. He had never heard the Lieutenant so serious before. Quickly he told the Lieutenant all he remembered, from when he first heard the stone shifting a small distance away, up until she started bleeding in his arms from wounds she did not have moments ago.

"And you're sure about that? You didn't overlook them the first time?"

"Absolutely, sir. She was exhausted, but I know she wasn't covered in blood when I found her."

Silence surrounded them as the Lieutenant pondered the information. He glanced over at Selvaria several times during the silence, as if she held the answer to the problem. Finally, he broke the silence, but did not start in the way Johann expected he would.

"How much do you know of Valkyrur's tales about Osthato Ikonoka?"

"Sir?" said Johann, confused. When Carn did not elaborate, he continued, "...N-not much really... Only that she was the Valkyria corrupted by Darcsen magic during the War of the Valkyrur. Why?"

Carn stared straight ahead, almost as if lost in thought. "She was a warrior who believed herself without equal, born with a power second only to Queen Valkyrur herself that grew stronger everyday. More powerful than all her peers, Osthato believed that given enough time, she would replace the Queen and lead them to future glory. But as her power grew, so too did her arrogance, her pride often causing her to lash out at all she deemed inferior to herself. As the incidents of Osthato's cruelty grew more and more numerous, the Queen realized the possible reality of a tyrant assuming her place, and chose Elza the Prodigy of the Valkyrur, the very same Valkyria that later sided with and lead the Darcsen forces, to take her place. Enraged at the decision, Osthato abandoned her people, disappearing under the cover of darkness. She left no trail to follow, erasing all traces of herself from the city she was born and raised in, even her true name. A year passed without any sightings of her, until the day the Darcsen tribes began their conquest for all of Europa."

"The War of the Valkyrur." Johann breathed. Carn only gave a brief nod before continuing.

"It is unknown what Elza bribed her with - power, status, revenge against those she believed to have wronged her - all the Valkyrur knew was that two of their once promising warriors were now the tip of the spear for the Darcsens war effort. But Osthato was no longer a Valkyria, not in any sense of the word. As you said, she was corrupted, twisted by Darcsen magic, reduced to a ruined and twisted form of life. Osthato Ikonoka, the 'Soulless Monster' had been unleashed. She slaughtered many of her former sisters, destroyed countless cities, and it wasn't until Natvir the Wolfheart joined the war alongside Queen Valkyrur and engaged the monster directly that they were able to subdue their former ally-turned-fiend. With their monster captured, Elza and the Darcsen tribes soon lost the War of the Valkyrur and were punished for their crimes... But this was not the end."

"What was meant as an act of mercy for their fallen sister turned into one last act of rampage and destruction for the Soulless Monster. With her dying breath, she unleashed all her power in a single blast of energy, a final flame of the Valkyria, destroying their capital city, and annihilating most of the population, including the Queen. It was a lost the Valkyrur never truly recovered from."

The connection between the story and the Lieutenant's current theory was obvious, and serious. "And you think... you think General Bles..."

"Unleashed the Final Flame herself, yes. Maybe it was an accident, maybe something she triggered accidentally. Or maybe she had no choice in the matter." The Lieutenant sighed, gazing down at Selvaria with a father's worry. "I confess I did not think it to be more than an old legend myself, but after everything that's happened, I fear things will only get worse for her... Assuming she even survives. "

"What do you mean?" Johann swallowed nervously. "Get's worse for her how?...Sir."

"If the old legends of Osthato Ikonoka, the War and Fall of the Valkyrur were all true, how many more of the Valkyrur's tales do we have to worry about?"

A small gasp and whimper suddenly came from Selvaria, startling both of them. Her eyes moved back and forth beneath the lids, arms lifting feebly in the air, but she did not stir from her unconsciousness. It was only when she stopped struggling that either man calmed.

Silence again enshrouded them in its holds. This time, however, neither man attempted to end it. Eventually, the Lieutenant left the tent saying there was nothing more that could be done, leaving Johann alone with Selvaria. Every so often, his eyes would brush over her face, and he no longer bothered to act like he wasn't doing it, or that it didn't mean anything. Taking off the glove he'd forgotten, he tucked it under his belt and reached to hold her hand. The calluses she had earned from her rifle brought a brief smile to his lips, but it disappeared as a single question - one he felt selfish for thinking after everything the Lieutenant had told him - lilt in his mind.

Did she know?

Everyone else seemed to. A gentle, knowing grin he caught from Oxford when the huge man saw the two of them talking. Then there was a smirk and a nod of approval from Otto when they were talking after the last battle, him stammering and barely able to look her in the eye without his face going red. Hell, Carn pretty much knew about his feelings for her before he even did. To say nothing of how he was the first Carn he had told about Selvaria's condition.

His mind was in turmoil. What if she never woke up, if she stayed comatose like this forever? Or worse, what if it was like Carn said, and this was only the start of things to come? Just the thought alone chilled him to the 'd known her only half a year, but he hadn't realized until now how much of a constant she was, or how much of a difference she'd made to him. He couldn't imagine losing her. He should have told her before how much he cared about her. Everyone else feared her, feared her power, but Johann was able to see through that. He had seen past her proud, noble appearance and saw the lonely young woman buried beneath.

As he sat by her, and time ticked past, marked only by her erratic, shallow little breaths, he began to make promises, desperate wishes. If she woke up, he'd tell her that he cared about her. He'd make sure she knew that everything he would say, he'd meant it. And most of all, he'd protect her. Protect her from anything that came her way. He thought back to his first battle at Ghirlandaio, how he fearlessly braved gunfire and tank shells just to rescue her from Gallia's treacherous ragnite gas. And that was even before he changed into the man known in Gallia as Ozwald the Iron.

He promised himself that he would do that again. He promised he would protect her… if she would only wake up…